


bunny flesh

by vellumspace



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Blood, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, horror?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellumspace/pseuds/vellumspace
Summary: Sniper wanted to try something... different.
Relationships: Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	bunny flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Note the tags.

"Sniper..."

"Sh."

Scout quieted, pressing his lips together timidly. He listened to silence for a few seconds, to the faint chirps of insects outside the camper, to the rustling of bedsheets being shoved aside and out of the way. Another moment passed. He breathed a little puff before swallowing and trying again, hating how his voice wavered. "Sniper..."

_ "Shh." _ Sniper let out the air a little more forcefully this time, and Scout shrunk back into an uncharacteristic quiet, a state he'd been regressing to a little more often than usual. He let his head thud back down on the mattress, exhaling a faint, shaky breath through his mouth, trying his best to make it go unnoticed. It sounded loud to his own ears.

The washed-out sheet felt soft against his back, but the familiar worn material didn't comfort him. He tried to shift his shoulders a bit, joints just starting to complain, feeling the downy texture of the fabric brushing his skin. It was warm with his own body heat, temperature rising with nervousness and unease. He could feel the skin of his hands start to dampen.

His fingers twitched anxiously, curling and uncurling, hands fumbling with each other. He felt lost, unsure of what to do with them. Trying to find something to hold on to, to at least touch the edge of the bed frame and reassure himself. Keenly uncomfortable, completely unfamiliar with the feeling of being tied. He pulled at the restraints tentatively, nylon rope wrapped around both his wrists. Arms pulled above his head, his movement was severely limited, feeling the position far too vulnerable, too trapped.

Sniper liked it, evidenced by the smile, how his gaze appreciatively roamed the display. But Scout regretted it immediately after the older man secured the knot, a little flush of fear swelling in his midsection. The braided nylon tugged at the skin of his wrists as he pulled, the friction of the rough plastic just beginning to hurt, and he realized that Sniper had tied them too tight. He tried not to think about how maybe the man had done that intentionally.

His mouth parted open before he could stop himself, to mention that it was tight, that it hurt. But his breathing caught when he felt cold metal against his abdomen, immediately halting his complaint and making him suddenly still. It yanked him back to reality, to what they were doing. Where he was. Splayed out on the mattress of Sniper's camper, feeling far too uneasy and apprehensive.

The sudden motionlessness was not an unexpected reaction. The knife stopped his entire frame, abruptly cut how he'd been shifting uncomfortably before. Sniper felt the beginnings of a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth when he saw just how suddenly the boy's body stiffened when he felt the metal touch him. Grey eyes searched Scout's expression briefly, before dragging the blunt edge of the knife across the boy's abdomen, the pocket knife small and weighted.

Sniper felt a little sense of satisfaction at how perfectly it fit in his fist, the curve of the handle mimicking those of his palm. His fingers wrapped around it seamlessly, the rounded edges burnished and worn, softened with years of use.

He drew the blade teasingly, deliberately slow, all the way across. Scout struggled to keep his gaze on the ceiling of the camper, acutely aware of the blade touching his body, an even, measured pressure all throughout. The metal was cold, and it left a lingering trail on his skin, an invisible line tingling as it was traced across his midsection. A sharp difference to the rising warmth of his body, making him shiver at the coolness. He felt his cheeks start to warm up with a flush. Nervousness ate away at his insides, an antsy sensation swelling in his core, like acid corroding soft flesh. Instinct immediately perceived the blade as a threat, the weapon instilling fear rather than any sort of excitement, his previous apprehension coming back full force.

The knife grazed over his hipbone, the trajectory ending there, and Scout felt the metal lift from his skin. He exhaled shakily as soon as the blade stopped touching. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath.

Sniper shifted, kneeling between Scout's spread legs. He gripped the handle tightly, readjusting his weight. It was as if he couldn't find the most appropriate position, moving restlessly. There was a little pang of thrill mixed with some impatience, the feeling almost uncomfortable.

He had wanted to do this for some time now, wanted to see how easily Scout's skin parted under the blade. It was more a morbid curiosity, the idea somehow interwoven with his sexual desire.

He hadn't been able to get rid of the visual. It was brought to the surface of his mind every time he saw Scout undressed, when the boy laid out on the mattress. Trying hard to be inviting, a little anxious and hoping that if he just spread a little more, he'd please the older man. Skin pale and soft and looking just  _perfect. _

Or the occasions when Scout stretched and tried to reach something at the top of some cabinet, the bottom of his shirt rising a fraction, just enough for Sniper to catch a glimpse of a pale hipbone, peeking out provocatively from beneath the jeans. Tempting him. Then he'd fall back to his normal stature, and the smooth pale skin would be hidden away. It was a vivid image that infiltrated his thoughts, inciting his craving, wanting to press his mouth to that lovely abdomen and suck. To bite it hard enough in an attempt to draw blood, to pull away and see the indent his teeth made in the soft skin, red pooling in the uneven depressions. He'd feel something like an urge, the want, to mar it permanently.

And it had surprised him at first, the little thought growing and growing until it was present constantly. And deep down, he realized, he also wanted to see Scout scared. To hurt him. He noticed it, whenever he went a little too hard, he'd feel a surge of gratifying pleasure hearing the boy's pained whimpers. The way his voice shorted when he cried to stop, scrabbling at Sniper's hands desperately.

The thought was there, and the more he focused on it, let it circle around his mind, he realized. He knew what he enjoyed. Knew what he really wanted to do.

The blunt edge grazed a faint line right down Scout's hip, making his breathing waver. The pace of his heart beat started to pick up, nervous fear warm in his midsection. He tugged at the restraints again, not liking the feeling of restricted movement. He had been opposed to the idea initially. But he had said okay, mumbled it really, after he felt himself backed into a corner and saying no wasn't exactly what Sniper wanted to hear.

He remembered the man's tone. Just laced with threat. There was no need to explicitly say anything. But Scout recognized it, knew what it meant, what was implied. It hinted at something dangerous brewing just beneath the surface. A promise of consequences. When Sniper spoke like that it always made Scout just a little afraid to argue. A little afraid of him.

Blue eyes searched the ceiling of the camper, screwing shut when the tip scratched a little deeply into his skin. Sniper's hissed reply kept echoing in the forefront of his mind, replaying on a loop the way he had shushed him, hearing it sound different each repeat. He thought it sounded too sharp, a little harsh. Like a warning.

He tried to keep still, like Sniper had told him to, but shifted uncomfortably regardless. Dread increased at a rapid pace, thickening the inside of his throat, and he felt horribly exposed with his bare thighs spread a little too wide for comfort, Sniper kneeling between them.

A part of himself told him he was stupid for feeling that way, suddenly ashamed, considering he'd been naked plenty of times before. On the mattress, on the counter. The floor, hell on his spine and shoulder blades. But he'd never been restrained. And it felt different this time.

It was a feeling of being trapped, of being confined, the unsettling realization that he wouldn't be able to leave. If he needed to.

And Sniper was looking at him odd, with an intensity Scout had never seen before. And he was holding a pocket knife in his right hand, a trace of dim light glancing off the metal as he tilted it, a streak of bright along the sharpened edge.

He truly regretted bending again. Doing this, what Sniper wanted. Yet in the back of his mind, he knew he never had an option. Not the first time he'd been unwilling. Coerced, pushed against the cabinetry regardless. An abrupt, brusque kiss to quiet his protests.

The point of the blade hovered over the boy's side indecisively as Sniper debated with himself on where to cut first, letting out a quiet, short hum. He wanted to do it so badly, measuring out the cut and passing some practice strokes lightly over the flesh, making Scout flinch. Yet somehow, at the same time he almost didn't want to ruin the lovely pale skin. Like a carpet of fresh snow, admiring the perfection of it whilst resisting the destructive urge to trample it violently.

Sniper ran a hand through his disheveled dark hair to get it out of the way, the longer strands defiant and hanging over his eyebrows. He was taking his time, easing into it. Savoring the seconds, listening to the quickened breathing of the boy. Scout was scared, and that was sparking something in Sniper. He paused briefly, kneading the boy's thigh, not really to try and placate him, squeezing the flesh just a little too deeply.

"You're doing well." The older man murmured, voice low.

Scout's reply was delayed, almost breathless, a short 'mmph', lost in his own doubts. He vainly wanted to feel something like pleasure, some sort of excitement, but the faint sensation was short lived, overpowered by growing fear. His quickening pulse did not calm down, the hot anxiety did not diminish, uneasy dread occupying his frame. Nerves highly strung and on edge, his consciousness realized that he did not feel safe.

Sniper waited a moment, then leaned forward and pressed the tip of the blade softly against the skin a few times, tentative. It touched twice before finally settling on a spot on the pale abdomen, centimeters above Scouts left hipbone. The smaller body flinched with the touches, feeling the sharpness.

Scout tried closing his eyes. He saw only blurred darkness, sensed the looming presence of the older man, heard his heavier breathing. Felt the nylon twisting into his wrists. The sharp edge prodding his skin.

And it was overwhelmingly awful. He failed, opened them after a few seconds, his eyes instead darting around the ceiling of the camper, briefly glancing at Sniper's face. He had a look of odd concentration, focused solely on the blade and the skin beneath it, the hand on his thigh still kneading absentmindedly. The grey of his eyes looked distant, like the misty fog in the mornings that hung low and obscured everything.

Scout's breathing faltered and he stiffened when he felt the blade contact the skin of his abdomen, the metal cold. The strange feeling alighted the nerves all over his body, faint exhilaration marbled with fear.

The pressure was measured, perfectly calibrated. Sniper held the blade at an angle, pressing just enough so Scout felt the sharpness of the edge, but it didn't slice into the skin just yet.

The pale stomach rose and fell with the boy's rapid breathing. Sniper watched intently how the flesh dipped with the pressure, pushing deeper. He tilted the blade, and with a slow movement finally sliced a small line, fixated on how the top layer of skin split as the blade cut through it. A deliberate, careful movement, making it shallow. Dark crimson immediately seeped out, thicker than ink and staining the edge of the blade. It was a somewhat superficial incision, the length shy of two inches, and just deeper than the surface of skin. He dug the point a little towards the end before lifting it, eliciting a sharp hiss from Scout, a little whimper.

With a finger, Sniper pressed lightly on one side of the wound to force more blood out. Flaps of skin curled outward with the pressure, the flesh opening a sliver.

Scout groaned, and bit hard into his lower lip at the sudden sharp pain in his side. Despite it being rather shallow, it stung when the skin parted and the inside was exposed to the air, the flesh throbbing hotly.

"Fuck, fuck!" He panted, straining his neck to try and lift his head up, to see what Sniper was doing. The knife caught his line of sight, how the low light reflected in the metal. His gaze darted to the bleeding line in his abdomen. It stung badly now, but he knew it would feel worse later. There would be a sharp jolt of pain every time he bent down, or shifted his posture. He eyed the blade warily, his nervousness intensifying the longer he looked at it, chest and insides tightening with pooling dread.

Sniper dipped the tip of his middle finger into the blood, brought his thumb and finger together to smear it, testing the viscosity. It tinted his skin dark red, settling in the texture and lines of his rough fingerprint.

Scout winced when he was touched, the cut burning and sensitive. He watched with apprehension, how the older man stared at the blood, at the sliced skin. Absolutely fixated. Like it was his first time seeing anything that shade of red. It was unnerving, seeing those grey eyes grow colder and distant, watching how the older man smeared the blood on his fingertips.

Sniper's gaze went from his stained digits to the cut. A prominent slash of dark red, bleeding slowly. He couldn't wait to see it when it scarred. Something he could run his fingers across, an imperfection interrupting soft, pale skin. Gratifying to know it was him who did it, like writing ones' name on their belongings.  _It's mine. _

Scout's pulse fluttered uneasily, and he watched nervously as Sniper picked up the blade again, bringing it back to the same incision. He whimpered when the blade nudged the edges of skin apart, the sharp tip then poking deeper into the bloodied flesh. His body jerked compulsively, trying to twist away from it. "That hurts!"

Sniper's eyes darted up to Scout's flushed face, and pulled the tip of the knife out of the boy's side, waiting for him to still. "Well it's going to hurt if you keep thrashing like that."

The older man set the pocket knife aside on the bed, watching how the boy panted as he tried to calm himself. Scout swallowed, his side throbbing. It wasn't too deep, but it hurt badly enough to start alarms. He reflexively jerked his arms, instinctually wanting to press his palm to the injury and pause the bleeding, letting out a frightened whine when he found the restraint didn't loosen. The nylon pulled taut, wrapped tightly around his wrists, abrasive as it dug into his skin.

Sniper leaned down, got closer to the boy's body, to the injury. Something moved him to close the gap, to press his tongue to the fresh cut. Scout hissed, sucking in air through his teeth sharply at how the pain suddenly flared up in intensity. The pressure, the wet, aggravated the injury further.

Sniper ran the wet muscle slowly across the line of sliced skin, prodding into it before pulling away, savoring metal. The tip of his tongue touched his vampiric canines, dark red settling into the crevices of his teeth and tinting his saliva pink.

Scout was biting hard into his lower lip to the point it hurt, buck teeth sinking deep into his mouth. He groaned at the sensation of wet tongue on his skin. It hurt, it stung, making alarms thrum in his mind, instinct flaring as his body panicked at the feeling of pain and being unable to move.

Sniper pushed his tongue across the back of his teeth, tasting salty copper. He had set the knife to the side, fingers around the handle, watching how Scout's face contorted to a pained grimace. The boy's cheeks were warm with a deepening flush, overpowering the light freckles decorating the bridge of his nose. It brought out his blue eyes, glassy at being hurt. There were little indents on his bottom lip where his teeth had sunk into, the skin reddened. The boy was tugging his wrists a little more frantically now, pale legs twitching to close. Fidgety little thing.

It made Sniper smile.

Bringing the blade to Scout's body again, Sniper's gaze fixated on his face, garnering his reaction when the sharpened edge scratched at the pale skin lightly, the tip circling over a nipple. A shiver of scared excitement glanced through the smaller body at the stimulation, the touch receiving a stuttered whine in response that Sniper found delightful.

He cupped the boy's jaw, his stained fingers leaving red prints on the boy's face, forcing his head upwards. Sniper caught Scout's mouth with his own, nibbling at the boy's bit lip to further the injury. He heard a little moan die in the back of the boy's throat, more in pain than pleasure.

Scout could taste the faint metal on Sniper's tongue as it invaded his mouth, his side hurting as his body shifted. The grip on his jaw was just a little too firm, not allowing him to turn away. He felt his lower lip get tugged on, the points of Sniper's canines digging into the flesh, intended to hurt. The older man let go of his lip, laved a line up to his earlobe, biting ungently, then pulled away to trace his throat instead. It made Scout raise his shoulders reflexively to protect his throat, feeling canines rake sensitive skin.

Sniper placed lingering kisses down the lines of Scout's neck, lips ghosting down. His hand smoothed down the boy's side, skirting over his hips and to his thigh. He squeezed the flesh gently, running the rough pad of his thumb over a spot on the inner part, considering whether he should cut horizontally or vertically. As an afterthought, he felt for the pulsing of a vein, wondering what would happen if he cut through that.

Scout let his head thud back heavily on the mattress, unsure of everything. Strange exhilaration and fear worked together to create a unique feeling of momentary lightheadedness, the sensation foreign. He pressed his lips together, moist with saliva that tasted like blood. Heat radiated from Sniper's body as he loomed over him, a dominant position the older man rarely strayed from. Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he prodded behind his teeth, tasting dark blood. He still felt lips on his body, lingering warmly, whilst the blade left cool trails behind that hadn't faded. It made him shiver involuntarily.

Sniper sat back up, and picked up the knife from where he had set it on the mattress. He spread the boy's thighs wider, and with a devilish smile, touched the flat of the knife to the boy's dick.

It signaled the nerves instantly. Scout recoiled horribly the second he felt it, the light nudge tearing a high-pitched yelp from his throat, blue eyes widening in fear. As if it had been a searing hot iron rather than the cool metal of the blade.

"I'm not going to cut it off," Sniper smirked, tapping the flat blade a few times against the pink skin, making the boy flinch badly with each tap. Withdrawing the knife, he fingered at it lightly, amused with how it twitched in unison with Scout's body. He adjusted his weight, the mattress complaining, before leaning down to wrap his lips around the head, tonguing the slit. Scout squealed, arching his back, shoulders tensing up to his neck. The pain in his side sharpened with the movement, and he yanked at the restraints, the nylon pulling taut.

It was overwhelming, too much. He was caught in an awful swell of sensation, nervousness and unease intensifying along with the sudden pleasure, a tingling that made the hairs on his arms stand on edge. It made him buck his hips reflexively, being neglected and finally receiving some attention.

Sniper pulled away, running his tongue over his lips, the center of it still stained with blood. Scout whined pitifully at the sudden lack of warmth and stimulation, shifting, tense and anxious and distressed. His body felt too warm, the camper suddenly too hot, and he felt the telltale dampening start on his forehead.

Scout's lower lip was trembling, scrunching up his nose a little bit. For some reason, it brought to Sniper's mind the image of a little bunny, how rapidly their noses twitched when they panicked. He smiled at the thought, enjoying the boy's reactions far too much. It was like toying with a fretful little animal. Trapped and terrified, prodding at it cruelly with a stick as it tries desperately to scurry away.

Quite the display. Picking up the knife again, he drew an imaginary line along Scout's thigh, the pointed tip lightly grazing the boy's skin. The blade trailed upwards, pausing at the point where Scout's upper thigh met his groin, lifting it momentarily. Sniper flicked the blade in his fingers, thinking. He wanted to go a bit deeper with this next one. Something longer than a few inches would look lovely.

Scout felt the edge of the blade press into his skin again, the tip sharp and hurting as it poked into the inside of his thigh. Instinct immediately took over, cutting right through the faint euphoric sensation he had briefly experienced. A scared whimper bubbled up from his throat, starting to panic as he feared the knife suddenly piercing into his thigh, imagined it slicing through a tendon, through something vital. A critical artery. The image was suddenly vivid in his mind, of dark red bubbling out the wound, thick and flowing. Spurting around the knife.

"Wait! Stop," His voice cracked out, sounding as if he was on the verge of crying. "Stop..." The blade lifted from his skin a bit, but still remained close, heightening his fear. The first cut stung, the flesh throbbing, the line still bleeding. A thin tendril of crimson was trickling down his side, staining the bedsheet and soaking through the worn cotton threads. Scout whined when he saw it again, a high pitched stuttered noise, the cut flaring up as he shifted.

"Stop I - I don't wanna do this anymore," His heartbeat was quickening with panic, breathing shallow and rapid and his tongue fumbled with the words. "Please, I don't - I don't wanna do this anymore..."

It was too much, too overwhelming. Nervous anxiety had swirled in his midsection from the beginning. But the pain, the fear, had increased it to the point that it was unbearable, and the only thing flaring in his mind was the hurt and panic. He tugged at the restraints, distressed that the knot still didn't give. It was too tight, the braided nylon pulling at the skin of his wrists painfully and compressing the tendons. Blue eyes looked back up at the older man pleadingly. "C-can you let me up?"

Sniper let out a long exhale through his nose, hands on either side of Scout's body, one still around the handle of the knife. Hovered over the boy, drummed his fingers on the mattress in thought. His face ground through a series of minute expressions that Scout couldn't identify, a little pulse in the man's cheek as his jaw tensed. Something like a bleak look, as if he was internally dissatisfied, a little upset that his fun was cut short and spoiled.

That forced exhale, similar to a long tired sigh, the tension up to his temples, were all hints. Small, almost unnoticeable details that Scout had picked up on fairly quickly. And by now he learned what they meant.

Sniper was starting to feel a little irritated, annoyed at the interruption. Scout was so... uncooperative, sometimes. He glanced at the rope around the boy's wrists, pale skin reddening with the frantic tugging, but made no move to untie them.

There was still no verbal response. The frustrated sigh still hung in the air between them along with cold empty silence, and it was starting to truly frighten Scout, feeling his throat have trouble closing, the back of his tongue thick. He was intensely aware of how close the knife was to his body, to his skin. And somewhere, his mind registered that it was a weapon. That Sniper was on top of him, holding a weapon.

His nerves were a shrill ringing that rose in pitch, screaming at him. The beginnings of what felt like a panic attack clutched at his chest, fearing he had angered the older man. He couldn't swallow.

"Sniper," Scout tried, voice light, involuntarily going up a few octaves. "Let me up, please," he begged, yanking his wrists.  _"Please,_ come on, I don't wanna do this, it hurts and -"

"No."

Scout halted, everything blanking for a split second, unsure of what he had heard. It took a moment to process, for the meaning to click into place, and he blinked, his waterline wet. "What?"

Sniper picked up the pocket knife from the bedsheet, gripping the handle. Scout felt his entire body twitch, hands fidgeting nervously when he caught sight of the blade again, hot dread starting to curl around his insides. He glanced back up at Sniper. A hard look of odd, blank concentration set across his features, an expression Scout couldn't read.

He saw how the man's eyes withdrew to a detached grey, somewhere else. Gaze sweeping over the smaller frame below him, raking over his skin. They fixated on the first cut, contemplating something, seemingly only intrigued with the distinct color of blood. It made Scout feel a tightening ache in his chest, something he almost identified as true fear. It felt infinitely worse than how he'd felt before, on other occasions when he upset him. As if this time, he had stepped too far out of the line Sniper drew for him. Didn't comply.

Sniper weighed the knife, feeling out the balance of the metal pensively. Toying with it, appearing unconcerned, the facade of calm unnerving. Finding the center, he let it teeter over his fingers for a few seconds before catching it. A little display he'd done before, something easily disregarded if Scout didn't pay mind to it. Just another thing Sniper did, handling weapons effortlessly, familiar with the weight and feel of them.

But then Scout started noticing the way the man looked at him when he had the knife in his hand, and it would spark a little flutter of warm anxiety in his stomach. A predatory, intent gaze. The lines around his mouth set, a defined element of his expression when he was thinking. Pondering, something swirling tentatively around his mind as he fixed on Scout's body, twirling and weighing the blade in his right with ease.

Sniper had that expression now. Scout sensed the disturbing undercurrent, on edge tightly, his consciousness perceiving a threat he did not want to believe. It came at him full force, a jarring realization. Glancing at the blade warily, he kept it in his vision, pulse quickening. The tip of the knife swept slowly over his skin, moving in imaginary lines over his stomach, and he followed it with his eyes.

"I could skin you right now." Sniper muttered, voice low and gravelly. Scout stiffened at the comment, unsettled by the way the older man said it. A deeper tone, on the border of disturbing.

That low belligerent voice made him nervous, on the edge of panic. Hearing it brought back thoughts that he had pushed to the rear of his mind, because he didn't want to confront them then.

Some small fraction of him recognized that this wasn't normal. But he was already cemented, far too stuck. It was part attachment, exerting so much effort to try and please his partner that it left him feeling lost and exhausted. Because it wasn't reciprocated.

When Sniper looked at him a little coldly, when he spoke low, that curt edge of threat in his voice directed completely at him... it would create a little flash of something in his core. And he'd feel genuinely afraid of the older man. The times Sniper got a little close and Scout hips met the counter and his back felt the cabinets, when his chin was grabbed and his head forced upwards, all to remind him sharply of the difference in size. And strength.

Reminded him that the older man wasn't exactly loving. Because he didn't look at him the way Scout looked back. It was always somehow distant, a little pale. Brought occasional feelings of something he fought hard not to think about, but it swirled in his head regardless, mocking him while he stayed awake at night. Eyes wide open, just listening to Sniper's breathing. And sometimes he'd turn and face the larger man, and think that maybe he was just something to toy with. Only kept around to entertain him, a little warm body to release his frustrations on.

And searching through his memories, he realized that it had always been that way. A fact he had pushed aside, because despite the brusqueness, Scout felt he still loved the older man, that he just needed to try harder. To behave, to just do what he wanted and then they'd have some semblance of artificial normality.

Even if sometimes the man shoved him a little too roughly into the counter, or dug his fingers into his thighs deep enough to bruise.

Despite all the afternoons he'd sit outside, distressed and his mind whirling, trying to figure out what he did wrong, where he misspoke. Trying to figure out why Sniper had hit him.

The tip of the blade was still tracing lines down his abdomen, and fear had sewn Scout's throat shut. The comment still floated unaccompanied, the threat just hanging heavily in front of Scout's face. Sniper absolutely could. Hurt him. If he wanted to. He had before.

Sniper angled the blade into the skin, watching curiously how it depressed under the flat edge. Flesh was so pliable. How oddly the grey metal stuck out from soft skin. One string of random thoughts led to another, and somehow Sniper found himself thinking that skin was a layer, and wondered if it could be separated from the muscle beneath. He decided yes, it could. He imagined what it would look like, flesh and blood, if he could get it all in one piece. And Scout was laid out so perfectly for him.

The words had come to mind and he unwittingly spoke them aloud, firmly cementing the idea in the forefront of his mind, like red letters. It would be so easy to just...

Sniper brought the blade to Scout's body again, slowly dragged the blunt side lightly down the center of the boy's chest down to his stomach. Scout twitched, little breaths hitching, clutching at air as he frantically tried to yank his wrists free, panicking. He was begging, voice rising higher and higher and cracking between breaths.

Sniper had never heard him so desperate, so scared. It was lovely.

Grabbing hold of Scout's right thigh to restrain him further, he leaned over, firmly pushing it down into the mattress. One knee on the other leg, putting all his weight on it. Flipping the blade over to the sharp side with one practiced movement, he repeated the same stroke, pressing a little deeper into the first layer of skin. Scout tried to jerk away, his body shifting, thrashing his arms and somehow Mundy realized the boy was screaming. His grip tightened around the handle.

He'd skinned plenty of rabbits before.


End file.
